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Another Note: Crime Scenes	By : Resting-Madness Category: Death Note > General Views: 2556 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't make money from this work of fiction. I don't own the realm of death note's creation like characters and plot, and world. None of it is mine.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Mello took another bite from his candy bar, the acidic bittersweet taste covered his taste buds almost instantly as the soggy chocolate further melted from the heat in his mouth; the fix had been in the glove-compartment for a bit too long, leaving it to the merciless heat of the engine. Now it's soft and pliable like thick clay, but still a pretty good bar- or rather blob- of chocolate; just as soggy as the day has turned out to be.
He'd be out there among the milling policemen but it's raining again; and since the crime scene has been multiply contaminated by water, the cops' footprints, the kids' and parents' prints at the birthday party, he saw no reason to rush over. He's just glad he had the foresight to take a car, even though Light hadn't come with him. But he saw the clouds and they didn't scream 'mist'.
Waiting out here could even be for nothing, this murder may not even be their guy, but then again, finding a corpse in a tree is not a usual thing, not that finding a corpse anywhere is natural outside of a morgue; so this finding, in particular, is strange in the sense of their killer's 'Calling Card'. It makes no sense and yet there is something on the body or around it that'll coincide with what the unsub hopes to accomplish during his murderous spree.
Radio Feed: The boy had something on his eyes, looked like scabs...
The police radio crackled on once in a while Mello listened in to the feed.
Radio Feed: Coroner says it should take a half hour to check the body for what killed him. We're gonna clear out in about ten minutes.
'Idiots,' Mello balled up the chocolate bar wrapper and dropped it into the ashtray, 'they'd better have had a tarp over him or anything useful on the victim could have been rinsed away.'
The environment, the body, it was all up for grabs to ruin in England's weather conditions; it's a wonder the police caught anyone here with the rain acting as crime scene clean up for the killers. Mello would bet anything that Jack the Ripper did most of his murders during the rainy season. Less foot traffic, water to wash away excessive blood, and, of course, if the rain is heavy enough it'll muffle sounds of a struggle.
Mello having been in the mob for some time knew how to get rid of a body, and when. He'd made many a slacker or disagreeing fool disappear in his reign. It helped that no one cared when people in the underworld go missing.
The agent expelled a hard breath through his nose and straightened in his chair. 'So you're wearing leather, it's not as if it'll shrink.' Pushing the door open the sound of the rain hammered away louder than when the door was shut, it was almost deafening. Rolling his eyes, Mello stepped out of the car and hurried through the park towards the crime scene.
The officers on the scene eyed him with suspicion but none approached due to wonder of why a young man clad in leather would have interest at the park and in this particular area, no less; when Mello knelt down beside the tree then straightened and looked up with intention of climbing the tree, that's when one of the officers stepped in and said something.
"Excuse me, what are you doing here?" He grabbed Mello roughly by the shoulder and spun him around to face him.
"I'm part of this case, I'm one of the investigators." He removed his credentials with some struggle as his pockets are sticking shut. At least he had the foresight to wear a t-shirt. He didn't think he'd need to carry the thing around at all; their faces should be known around the station by now. Then again, after the Kira case, working in the force has become unusual in many ways in regards to what outsiders can and can't have knowledge of. Any number of police forces could have been under Kira's authority. It wasn't safe then and they shouldn't rest that it's safe now.
The officer squinted through the downpour then took the badge wallet to look it over. He eyed Mello's photo then the scar.
"Baking accident, satisfied?" Taking back his property he held onto it; his attention returning back to the branch he'd intended to boost himself up with. Addressing the cop, he asked. "Has anyone been up there?"
"Not that I've seen," replied the officer wondering if he'd get a chance to introduce himself; this Mello seemed all business; and what kind of agent uses only a first name... or was it perhaps a surname? "Wouldn't do any good, the boy wasn't killed up there."
"Do you know which way the kid was facing before he fell or was removed?" Mello asked more interested in the clues within the situation than the murdered child.
"You'd have to ask the witnesses about that, by the time we'd showed up the boy was already earthbound." Seeing this as an opening he added. "I'm officer Boivin, by the way." He held out a hand to shake Mello's but withdrew when the hand was ignored. "Do you think this is The Twin-Reapers doing?"
"The Twin-Reaper?"
"It's what we're calling the madman who slaughtered the Talbott family and those ladies at the hotel. Pretty clever, right? My partner thought of it." He pointed over to a man with a horseshoe pattern of hair on his head and a thick patch of facial hair on his chin but now place else in that particular area. "We've taken the witnesses down to the station for proper questioning, if you'd like to see if you can get something out of them."
"Yeah, I'll do that." He scratched his cheek from the itchy feeling of water sliding down his face, then absently smoothed his hair back to remove a majority of water from it; Mello needed to check in with Matt before heading to the station. "Were you all here before it started to rain?"
"Most of us, they sent another unit once it started."
Nodding to himself Mello spared the tree one last look before walking back to the car. The rain let up to a light drizzle by the time he hit the street, and after brushing his hand down his clothes he slid into the car then pulled his phone from the space beneath the car's stereo. Dialing Matt's number he waited for the techie to pick up.
"Where are you?"
"Pub. Want me to bring you something?" Replied his right hand.
"No. I'm heading to the police station to question the witnesses, then I'm going home to change."
"Got caught in the rain- sexy... Wanna play 'What Aren't You Wearing'?"
With a smirk on his face, Mello rolled his eyes. "I'm not stripping in a car in the middle of the city, get your ass back to work, Redfield."
"I'm going by Nivans now."
Matt's laughter was hung up on, then Mello started the car and headed to the precinct.
0 0 0
Mello was through with questioning the witnesses; they'd seen nothing unusual outside of the body. The boy was facing East before he fell from the tree. And he was positioned so that he was looking down as if he were playing up there for fun or simply having a seat for the view. It was the view that Mello was interested in. It could either mean something or nothing in finding out who the killer is, but Mello logged it to memory.
The former Mafia member then busied himself with the crime scene photos. There were many of the victim, zooms of his face, his eyes burnt closed. Mello could feel his own affliction sting in empathy. 'The kid looks kinda pale, how long was he up there?' Flipping to another photo he looked closely at the one with the branch. The photo is zoomed in. Clearly the photo was taken camera lense zoomed in rather than a cop having gone up a ladder to examine it. 'It doesn't look like there was a rope used, so how the hell did the unsub get the kid in the tree? I can see the kid's weight securing him, but he'd have to have some kind of skill to hoist a body up a tree without a rope.'
Mello's scenario revisited the idea of a ladder being used. He could see Baron Samedi ascending a ladder with a child slung over his shoulder and just depositing the victim there to be discovered, unfortunately by a little boy.
"The coroner, Dr. Tucker, is still looking over the body..." Officer Boivin addressed not only Mello but Near's agent, a man who'd introduced himself as Rester, as well. "He says he'll have some basics by this evening but he'd like to do a full check-up of the body."
"'scuse me? Boivin? There's a woman out front says she knows the boy, it's his mother." A front desk clerk called into the interrogation waiting room. "Should I get someone else to speak with her if you're busy?" And this she said while glancing from Mello to Rester, two men who looked like they meant business and didn't care for having it interrupted for a weeping Mum.
"No. Send her back." He looked at Rester and Mello. "If you'd like to stay..."
It was open-ended, but, if they were staying, they had the option of following Boivin to his office or waiting until he was finished with the victim's mother. They chose to follow the officer to his office. Mello noticed that what should be a grieving mother, simply looked confused and almost angry. In any case, she should at least be able to answer the question of when her son had been taken. Time slots are just as crucial to a case as the body. It helped to frame areas and to narrow down the killer's operating field.
When the door closed behind the last man in, Rester, the woman took a seat and began...
"My son, Jason, you remember him, don't you?" She asked the officer. "It happened four months ago, he was ice skating with some friends and a block of ice hit him, he died before he could reach a hospital due to his lung collapsing."
"Jason?" Boivin muttered trying to find the name. "Jason Lloyd?"
"Yes. Yes, my husband and I buried him long ago, so you can imagine how devastated I was to see the news and find out that my boy had been found dead again up a tree. What's happened? How can someone do such a thing?"
"We don't know, ma'am. And I'm very sorry that this happened to you." The officer expressed his deepest regards to the poor family.
"You mean your son wasn't killed, but already dead?" Mello asked Mrs. Llyod.
"That's right." Taking in his attire she only blinked as she figured he must be an undercover agent. She's never seen an officer dressed like that. The other man looked American but very official, but she's never seen him before. He must be new to the force. "Who would do something so horrible to my son?"
"We don't know... We're trying to figure that out, Mrs. Llyod." Replied officer Boivin.
Rester offered the woman the photos taken from the crime scene. "Can you look at your son, see if anything about him has been altered?"
"Yes, of course."
"Now I warn you, these are graphic... If you don't think you can handle it.."
"Please, this is for my son... I don't care what I see." She wasn't as emotionally strong as her words because one look at the photos sent her into tears. She took the offered handkerchief from officer Boivin and dabbed her eyes. "His eyes, something's happened to them." Mrs. Llyod kept staring until the photos were removed from her by Rester. "Why would someone hurt him like that?"
Again, no one could offer her an answer; and by the time Rester and Mello left the station they were no closer to solving who the killer was, and had no idea who his next victim would be. The boy wasn't a twin and if he had a look-alike who knows where he is, he wasn't originally a victim of the man, unless the look alike has been placed somewhere else in the city.
'It has something to do with the kid's eyes... Why burn them out? Did he see something, or was he not supposed to?' Mello slid into the car and closed the door. He got a text from Matt. 'The unsub contacted Quimby last night? What the hell, why didn't that idiot push the alarm?' The agent was becoming agitated again, he needed to make a stop at a grocery store for some better brain food.
0 0 0
Matt stuffed another crackling flaky bite of cod into his mouth, that's still full of the last bite he'd taken, and chewed the refreshed contents with the old as he wondered over the bottle of rum. 'What was so special about this bottle that the killer had to have a drink from it?' Pinching three crisp fries together he set them down on top of the last bite of fish then shoved it all into his mouth.
He ignored the call from Quimby when Light texted and said he'd go check it out. He, of course, would check in on his own, but for now he preferred to eat and think. Cocking his head, he studied every inch of the bottle when a row of numbers whizzed past his gaze. 'Hm?' Looking at the numbers with more care, he then lifted his phone from beside the plate and brought up the map. 'It's exactly the same as the street address for the park... No way he could have known that, not from that distance. Maybe he planted it there... But it was unopened...′
Finishing the rest of the vinegar flavored fries, Matt stuffed the bottle into his satchel beside the laptop; setting the money for the meal under his plate, he left the restaurant full in the belly and in the head with thoughts about the case.
0 0 0
Inspector Light stood behind Quimby watching words appear on the blank WordPad screen. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to get an impression of but he knew he was bored already. How was Quimby supposed to tell the story from the killer's point of view if he knows nothing about him, or any of the reasons behind his killing? Is the guy trying to gain attention in a fictional or non-fictional sense? Does he want the murders explained when he's caught or does he simply want to look clever and come out as an unsolved cold case? It was hard to say, even more so, when the journalist has nothing to go on other than he hated what was there and made nothing but lame assumptions left and right down the page.
With a quaint sigh from his lips, Light moved to the kitchen. "I'm going to put on a pot of tea, is there anything specific that you like?"
"I like anything, thank you." Quimby stares at his new words with dread and wonder of how he could make it better.
Despite his fear, he wasn't dead yet, and the killer seemed to want him to tell his tale to a point that instead of replacing him, he, or possibly she, told him to do it over rather than just kill him. He felt kind of special. Was that weird or 'messed up', as the kids say? Because let's face it, he's not the most popular columnist at the Mirror, and all the other journalist consider him almost like a summer school teacher, only there part-time and when needed, when he's a full-fledged member. Perhaps this sicko sees a kinship with him. Something about that seemed to surge inside of him, and his finger clicked the left mouse and held the button down as he dragged it over his words and erased what he'd done to start anew in one swift 'Delete'.
Quimby was a good way into the first chapter when Light entered the living room carrying two mugs of strong scented Black Currant tea. His favorite. Accepting the cup, he eyed the well-dressed foreign inspector as Light sat down on the armchair; something about the young agent made him itchy, he has a certain air about him that could either rub you right or wrong depending on the person or maybe even the young man's mood when meeting you? He may be constantly startled by the pair, but he does much better with the company of agents 'Flambo' and 'Nicorette'.
"I noticed you have a few murder mysteries on your bookshelf..." Light let the statement sit.
Quimby looked over his shoulder to the living room bookshelf as if he'd just noticed he had one. "Yes, I bought them yesterday. I don't usually write, muchless read, things such as that. I wanted to study up."
"I see."
Quimby quirked a brow wondering if that was some sort of quiz, and if so, had he passed? It seemed like everyone wanted him to be the one doing this. 'Hn. Foreigners. They don't want to be here, and likely want to get it over with quickly so they can go back home.'
"Had anything been moved around inside of the house?"
"No. He just wrecked my desktop PC, and slipped out." Pointing at the television he added. "He probably went out afterward and did that."
Light didn't bother asking if Quimby followed the news; of course he does, he's a journalist.
"...Was it another victim of his?" The journalist finally asked. He'd been wondering if he should take notes, and he DVRed the show just in case.
"I don't know, the investigators and police are still checking out the site." Replied one of the investigators who wished he was there himself instead of babysitting the... He's not really sure how to address Quimby.
The man is doing nothing but acting as a liaison for the killer, but somehow he feels like an accomplice as well. Should the man come right out and talk to him, would Quimby tell anyone, or would he remain ignorant to the situation that this psycho needs to be put behind bars and not on display as a good read in the local library?
Light grabbed his phone and touched the screen. He has a text from L. "Do you have somewhere you can go? A friend you can hang out with?"
"Why?" Quimby went back to typing before his mind could blow a fog over the idea that just came to him.
"I have to go. But," he poked a peep-hole through the curtains "the cops are still parked outside watching the house, and I've already checked the place over myself and there's no one here but us."
"You can leave, I'm gonna get a jump on this thing..." His head drooped. "With any luck, he'll come by to look in again and be caught this time."
"With luck." Replied Light. "Take care of yourself."
"Same to you." He waved then went back to his work with the sound of a closing door in the background.
Light walked down the stone stairs just as a young woman was walking over.
"Hello," she greeted with a very faint British accent. Pointing a finger at the front door she asked. "Is Ellis inside?"
"Yeah, he's home today." Replied the inspector eyeing the short woman standing beside him. Her pixie cut brown hair looked nice against her large blue eyes as she stared up at him with kindness. Her thin hands held tightly to a basket of scones that swayed before she moved. "I've brought him something to cheer him up, he hasn't been coming into work very often and... well... you know.."
"Yeah. I'm sure he'll appreciate it." Light continued by then paused. "What's your name?"
"Dana Hightower, nice to meet you." She released one hand from the basket to shake Light's hand.
"Nice to meet you, I'm agent Legal."
"Scary name. Well, good afternoon, then." She walked up the stairs then knocked on the door.
Light watched Quimby peek through the curtains to see who was there before the front door pulled open to allow the woman inside.
0 0 0
At the Leigh House hospital. Light and L are finishing up with the younger man's physical therapy and are currently walking through the self-revolving door and out into the parking lot.
Light flexed his trembling right hand in and out; after playing catch with L for the past half hour it was a little sore. He couldn't help but squint at the handicap. It doesn't bothered most of all day, just when he writes a lot or holds onto anything heavier than a small laptop without assistance from his left hand.
The weather had cleared up gorgeously and the patrons were taking advantage of it by jogging or strolling around the courtyard for their own physical therapy. A few nurses were even taking a cigarette break.
"Good work today," commented L. "We should head back now and you can rest; I'll even give your hand a massage." He said those words as though he were fishing for nothing short of an enthusiastic 'yay' at the prospect.
"I feel fine." Walking through the lot he paused to wait for a car to drive through before heading across the street. "We should have done a few more tosses."
"Mmmm," the detective made it sound as if he were truly debating the suggestion, only to change his mind. "No. I really don't think you need to be nursing arm pain, and possibly back sprain from pushing yourself past the limit."
"Do you honestly think it would be that bad?" Light opened the door to the passenger's side of the town car then he climbed in and buckled up.
"One never can tell with muscle spasm, it's a gypsy, never staying one place or even in one way."
Crossing his arms Light shook his head. "That's ridiculous, and you know it." A rich sugary scent caught his sense of smell when L closed the door on his side, looking around he spots a donut shop across the street that must have been starting a fresh batch for the day if the smell was that strong from such a distance. "You just want donuts, don't you?"
Turning his head, he pointed his index finger at Light. "No one likes a finger pointer." He stuffed the key into the ignition and started the car. "It's more than that, they have this S'mores milkshake that'll become your new religion."
"I'll have to take your word for it." It sounded too rich for Light's blood, and he occupied himself with looking through his phone while being driven across the street to the Golden Balls donuts.
"What's been going on with that young boy from the park?" L inquired as he pulled the car up to the ordering window.
Light waited for him to finish ordering before he spoke. "According to Mello, the kid has been dead since the beginning of the year. His name was Jason Llyod and his mother came down to the station and IDd him." He scrolled through the text in his phone messages. "Mello said Mrs. Llyod couldn't figure out why someone would burn his eyes out when Jason had died from a lung collapsing; the coroner's report is still ongoing." Turning off the phone, he watched L gesturing to him with his hand, knowing what the detective wanted he removed a hole from the assorted bag and pressed it to L's lips so he could eat it. "How about you? How are your cases coming along?"
"I finished them all last night," he replied before leaving his mouth ajar for another morsel to find its way inside and he spoke as he chewed. "I've been bored as of late."
Light understood boredom, but L doesn't have the other matter of being cooped up in the hospital along with that boredom. "You've always got games."
Thumbing his bottom lip with his thumb, he says in a downtrodden voice. "But with you on the case, who is there for me to play with? The staff?" His mind went back to Watari and his hand tightened on the leather steering wheel.
Noticing the bitter, almost invisible, gesture, Light offered a hand. "Have you tried Near? He doesn't go out."
"Near?" L made a thoughtful hum. "Near... Why not Near." Smiling; his appetite was restored and at a red light he grabbed a chocolate hole for himself popping it into his mouth, taking the time to suck the glaze from his fingertips.
Light wondered how well that was actually going to go. Near is sort of anti-social from what he can tell about the teen. But then again, so is L. If the situation was a person, that scenario was going to make 'awkward' very uncomfortable.
0 0 0
Matt is back at the manor researching information about Sie Moriuchi, Misa Amane's former best friend. She's attending university for culinary arts and showcasing herself as Pagan on weekends with a web series she and another friend have put together. He contacted the police in the area and told them to pick her up, he'd interview her via laptop with a monogram M on the screen. He'll be able to see her but she won't be able to see him. The interview was scheduled just a bit later today, which gave him time to look for street footage from the night before when he and Mello chased the unsub from the night club.
He'd gotten in around the same time that L and Light came back from their outing; he didn't know where they'd gone, but he could figure it was the hospital. He'd undergone the same sort of schedule when he needed check-ups after the shooting, more so after being plugged in the head. He'll never know how he got so lucky to escape brain damage, but he lives and breathes, and is back to get up to more things that could get him killed.
Matt still can't figure out L. The man seems stand-offish but when you look at him and he sends you a secret smile, you feel he's approachable and human. The detective even offered him a honey glazed donut hole when they passed each other in the corridor. But then there are the other times when L seems like he'd chew your head off for so much as being in the same room as he is. It left Matt wondering which person was the true detective and which, if either, was an act.
'Thank you,' He thought as the city network booted up on his laptop. It was nice to see some parts of Winchester got their act together and went digital. He wasn't sure he knew where to go to get city camera footage, but it was probably some big corporation. 'There we are...'
He sped up the footage and after about ten minutes in the unsub came into view, hobbling, as the busybody woman who lives beside the Talbott's had reported he does. He didn't address the camera as if he knew he'd been seen by it. He probably didn't even know it was there at all. Matt leaned forward to get a better view of the spook waiting in line like any normal pedestrian. Nobody is paying any attention to him, and he isn't giving off any alarming behavior or signs that he wants anything but to get into the club.
After a six minute wait, the Baron was admitted into the club. Matt sped up the feed then switched to a five-way screen to view each camera feed that is set up around the club. He felt bile move up into his throat at what he saw next. The Baron shot out of the club and into the dark alley and, like a slap in the face, he simply pressed himself into the wall of the building right in front of the club. A black building. With his hat, cape, and shaggy black hair the man became invisible. It was like watching a magic trick.
Matt rewound the footage and watched it again and again. There. Gone. There. Gone. Fuck. 'He literally disappeared, right before our eyes. He never moved once he hit that wall; we looked around that whole area like fucking...' His fist hit the tabletop.
He could have tossed the laptop, really. He was that angry. Matt's attention returned to the screen when he and Mello finally departed from the shot. The unsub stuck around for another five minutes then he took a step back from his hiding place and casually walked away.
'I feel like I'm being pranked right now,' He took out a cigarette then lit the tip. 'Next thing you know some douchebag is gonna pop out of the closet and tell me I got punked. How is it even possible for someone to do something like that? I can't hide in plain sight... few could...'
But when thinking about it, he's often had times when he'd walk into a room and not so much as sense someone who's been sitting there for a while. Just look at when L and Light had arrived like thieves-in-the-night, he didn't notice either of them until he was addressed by the detective.
Blowing out a puff of smoke; he called Mello. He may as well get it out there so the man can vent out of throwing range. "Mel' where are you?"
"Supermarket."
"The market?"
"What do you want?" He felt no need to explain.
"The other night when the unsub pulled a vanishing act on us, it was no shit, he literally disappeared before our eyes by hiding in the darkness against a dark building. He was standing right there and we didn't see him." He can hear a telltale sound of a bite of chocolate snapping away from its whole.
"You saw the video?" He asked once his mouth was clear of food.
"I can send you the freak show now." It took a minute but the file was then sent to Mello's phone.
"Son of a bitch... That's..."
"I know, I didn't know what to say either. Creep knows how to keep it interesting... Do you think he thinks we're gonna tell this stuff to Quimby so he can write about it?"
"It's possible. How else would Quimby know the finer details?" Another snap sounded down the line and then another.
"It would explain why the Baron told him to write the rough draft over, Quimby was writing for himself from what I got from the pretty boy's visit to him."
"We're just supposed to feel comfortable giving notes to a suspect." Mello scoffed. "For all we know it is a two man job, and Quimby is playing dumb."
"Either that or the sick little nobody is starting to get into it." Matt continued with his train of thought after a pause. "Can you imagine being a nobody then something like this comes along and your name is on everyone's lips? Rester mentioned that he's been backing off the media that calls the journalist for interviews. That's enough to give anyone a swelled head, regardless of the means that get it there."
"Have you contacted Moriuchi yet?"
"Five minutes to wait."
"Okay. I'll head back after I check out the park, I need to look at the tree more thoroughly. There's something about it that's nagging me."
"Like how the kid got up there without being hung?" Matt opened a screen for skyping then went back to his conversation. "Even if he was pulled up by a rope, the guy would still have to be close to the branch to position him, and there would be rope burns in the bark. This is becoming a cluster-fuck of confusion."
Mello had no words just silent agreement. "I'll see you when I get back."
"Later." Hanging up, he pressed record on the video and after three minutes the interview began.
0 0 0
L stood in the doorway of Watari's bedroom. The darkness brought on by the closed curtains cooled his face as he walked inside, closing the door behind him. L took a breath and sighed in thought that Watari would never occupy this space again. The man's scent would be erased from here being disturbed by tourists coming in and out when the detective isn't using the manor as a home. He supposed he could lock the door and seal the room off from the general public, but it would do no good. It would be purposeless.
L's thin fingers ran across a chess set resting along a wall of the room. He and Watari played often, the scores weren't kept but the enjoyment was. The detective gave pause when a memory engulfed his mind.
He was nine-years-old the first time he'd challenged Watari to the game; L couldn't concentrate on it when behind him Backup and A were chatting, or rather B was chatting and A was studying, though, listening to the strange boy's words. B wondered why Watari followed L all the time, he wondered if the man was his handler and why he'd even need one. He wondered if he, L, knew his position wasn't so special if it would be taken away from him by A or himself.
It was very annoying, to say the least. He knew nothing about B, but B knew his name. Whenever the other had found a moment where he could talk to him he'd always called him by his given name Errol or his surname Lawliet, never by his alias L. He'd even called A by his real name, Adel or Armina. He didn't know about Shinigami eyes back then; he didn't know anything about them except it was more muttering children do on the playground.
He'd only had access to sorted information during a brief involvement in a strange case dealing with a middle school student and his playing God. It seemed so far-fetched and ridiculous to be true- especially when the murdered victims turned out to be alive, but then there was Backup and his strange habit of knowing names without having met the person before.
It was through having questioned one of the creatures during the Kira investigation, he learned much about them and their mysterious abilities. It means nothing now. The Kira investigation is closed, and hopefully, the killer notebook will never show itself in the human world again, and that all similarities to the case have nothing to do with this current one. He hated dancing in the palm of someone who could have or have not a power such as the Death Note. The only plus side is that there's no mystery, they know what they're dealing with, but the product is far too dangerous to be at ease regardless.
As if his spark had been restored L moved over to the closet and opened the solid wood door. He touched the perfectly pressed and aligned suits and remembered the man who wore them. He wanted to be L. Watari was L. He had to take the man's place and he wanted to do it. And once it was done, he, L, wanted more. And now, if it were possible through osmosis, he would give it all back to have Watari again, for even a few days.
Closing the door, he turned around and grabbed the chess set then walked it out of the room then went to find the one nearest to L.
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Another Note: Crime Scenes